Psych: Halloween Knights
by spookysister7
Summary: This was all happening too fast. He was going to get burnt again. He started to pull away. "Carlton," she murmured as her fingers dug into his chest, "Don't leave me." He sighed deeply. "I'm not going anywhere." Lassiter/OFC. Lassie Whump!
1. Chapter 1

AN: Okay guys! This is supposed to be a quick story. Actually it was supposed to be a Halloween one-shot, but somehow it's getting away from me. Grr. I am fighting the urge to really expound on the OFC. She just so wants a voice here! So if everything feels a little quick, well, it is. I'm going for short here! Short I tell you! Darn plot bunnies…

Chapter 1: Prologue

Carlton Lassiter stormed the building, his partner, Juliet O'Hara, right at his heels. Cries of 'clear' echoed in the silence following the capture of the drug lord and his minions. Lassiter and O'Hara let McNabb and company read the perps their rights and continued downstairs. The basement was the only place left to be cleared, and Lassiter wasn't taking any chances. Hillcroft and his gang weren't just run-of-the-mill drug pushers, they were big-time dealers. No stone would be left unturned, no room left unsearched.

The damp chill of the basement greeted them, the musty scent of moisture oozing from the grey cement walls. Only the typical clutter of cardboard boxes broke the grey-walled monotony, the faint light of October dusk filtering through the tiny window and barely making a dent in the gloom. A bare 60 watt bulb dangled from the ceiling, casting wavy shadows as the thump of footsteps upstairs jarred it.

Lassiter made a mental note to confiscate the boxes. A paper trail was just what they needed to wrap this case up in a nice, red bow. He caught his partner's gaze and jerked his head towards the plain wooden door that bisected the basement. The hastily-assembled walls and unpainted sheetrock almost made him think it was a newly built room, but evidence of mold growing spider-like across the base quickly dissuaded him.

As they moved closer to the door, Lassiter became increasingly suspicious. There was a bar lock on the door. Heavy duty. The kind that most people put inside their doors to keep people out. But this one was on the outside of the door. That could only mean one thing. The room was meant to keep someone in.

His eyes met O'Hara's and she nodded, frowning. He raised his hand and motioned for her to keep back. Sliding the lock over with a heavy snick, Lassiter readied his weapon and threw open the door.

He paused for a long moment, taking in the scene. It looked like a prison cell. A cot sat against the far wall, a small brown blanket folded neatly at the end of it. A cardboard box peeked out from under it. The only lighting came from another bare bulb, this one inset in the ceiling. Lassiter kept his gun at the ready as he entered the room. The poor lighting meant deep shadows, especially in the corners of the room. O'Hara followed him in, her familiar presence as comforting as the gun in his hand.

O'Hara gasped lightly, and Lassiter stiffened.

"What?" he demanded, his eyes scanning the room for danger.

"Look," O'Hara whispered, her voice concerned.

Lassiter spared a glance back at her, his eyes following her gaze as she stared at the wall behind him. He only took a moment to look and then returned to his search, the muscles in his shoulders bunching as he gritted his teeth.

It shouldn't have been disturbing. A child-like drawing of a landscape. Trees and sunshine, clouds and birds. A simple black-and-white sketch in what looked like pencil. But the drawing, combined with the lock, made his stomach clench.

He looked into the small, dark alcove to his left. A bathroom, half-lit through the doorway: just cement and plumbing; a showerhead and a sink, a toilet and a tiny plastic mirror- dangling from a nail. A white toothbrush and a roll of toothpaste perched on the edge of the sink. A black comb sat on the opposite side, strands of long, dark hair tracing across the white porcelain. A bottle of cheap shampoo and a bar of soap waited under the sink, a navy-blue disposable safety razor carefully leaning against the bottle.

O'Hara still waited in the doorway, making sure that no one could sneak out while he cleared the room. There was only one place left to look. The right side of the room was nothing but shadows; only the barest outline of walls could be seen from the doorway. For a fleeting moment Lassiter thought he saw movement.

Looking over at O'Hara, Lassiter jerked his head towards the far wall. She nodded sharply. The Glock was heavy in his hands as he crept forward, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimness. Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement, and he immediately faced in that direction.

"Freeze!" he shouted, "This is the police, come out with your hands where I can see them!"

For a long moment nothing happened, and Lassiter felt a twinge of doubt. Maybe he'd seen a rat. Then- movement. From out of the pitch-black corner of the room, a tiny, pale foot appeared. The edges of a tattered brown dress, white, trembling hands, a dark cascade of hair, and dark, wide eyes.

Lassiter immediately lowered his weapon. There was no way she could have a weapon on her, even if she'd tried. Her ragged brown dress barely covered her body, the spaghetti straps knotted in several places, the bottom roughly torn to a uniform length at her knees.

The woman continued forward, watching him with the intensity of a cornered animal. She stopped several feet in front of him, and he could hear O'Hara's stifled gasp as she came into view.

The woman looked at him, her eyes boring into his so attentively that he had to fight the urge to look away.

"You've come for my brother?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Who is your brother? Who are you?" O'Hara asked gently as she moved closer. The woman flinched and took a step back into the darkness.

Lassiter gestured for O'Hara to stop, keeping his eyes on the woman.

"Answer her," he demanded after long moments of silence.

The woman's eyes fell to the floor for a moment before she took a step closer to him and met his eyes.

"Ernesto Hillcroft," she said softly, "I am Angeline Hillcroft." She took a deep breath and clasped her hands together, "And I will testify against my brother."

Lassiter nodded sharply and holstered his gun.

"I am Head Detective Carlton Lassiter of the SBPD, and this is my partner, Juliet O'Hara."

Angeline nodded, her eyes falling to the floor as she crossed her arms protectively.

Lassiter took a step towards her and she looked up, fear flashing in her eyes. He slowly took off his coat and reached forward, draping it across her shoulders. She looked up at him in surprise, pulling the warm, over-sized grey jacket around herself unconsciously.

"Please," Carlton said, reaching out his hand, "Come with us."

She studied him for long, silent moments and then took his hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Angeline's song – "Sometimes When it Rains" by Secret Garden

Chapter 2

"You're not sending her to some psycho ward!" Lassiter shouted, slamming his fist down on the Chief's desk, "I barely got her into the station! Do you have any idea of what she's been through?"

"Do you?" Chief Vick retorted, standing and leaning towards her volatile Head Detective, "You really think you're qualified to deal with whatever issues she has?"

"The only issue she has is being locked in the basement by her brother for a decade! I didn't rescue her from there just to lock her up somewhere else! She trusts me!"

Vick grimaced, "I'm not fond of the idea either, but I don't see that we have any other option."

"Yes we do! Me. Let me guard her until the trial."

Vick looked at him and her eyebrow rose, "You're volunteering to go off this case and become a bodyguard?"

Lassiter backpedaled, "There's no reason I can't still be on the case," he insisted, "I'd just do the work from home. I'm sure McNabb and O'Hara wouldn't mind bringing me the information. And really, it's all just paper trails from here on out."

Vick stared at him and he shifted uncomfortably.

"Fine. But if I think, for any reason, that you're endangering yourself or our witness, I'm taking you off this case."

"Thank you Chief," Lassiter said, turning to leave before she could change her mind.

"Oh, and Detective?"

"Yes, Chief?"

"The next time you pound my desk you'll be on traffic duty for a month."

Lassiter swallowed, "Yes, Chief."

-000-

Carlton fought his way through the chaos of the station, moving towards interrogation room B, where he'd left Angeline under the watchful eye of his partner.

As he reached the door, he growled. Guster was talking to O'Hara, but Spencer was nowhere to be seen.

"O'Hara!" Lassiter shouted, stomping towards the interrogation room, "You let him in?"

He ignored her stammered attempts at explanation and stormed into the room, pausing as he took in the scene.

Spencer was apparently mid-description of the Drimmer case, gesturing wildly as he threw his body across the table. Angeline was sucking on a Sugar Daddy and watching attentively, a small smile at the corner of her mouth.

Her eyes flew up to his as he entered the room, and she stood, lowering the candy with a guilty expression.

"And then Lassie here pulled out his gun from a bowl of peanuts! Peanuts! And that was the end of Drimmer, let me tell you," Spencer finished with a flourish, "I, of course, provided him with the essential distraction, but Lassie can be a bad mother…"

"Spencer," Lassiter growled, yanking him out the door by his arm. He slammed him against the wall as the door slammed shut behind them.

"Before you go all postal on me," Spencer said, his expression as serious as Lassiter had ever seen, "She was about to freak out in there. Jules told me how you guys found her. Do you really think leaving her alone in a cement room with no windows was the best idea?"

Lassiter frowned, "Oh."

Spencer pulled out of his grip, straightening his plaid shirt with a superior sniff, "Besides, the spirits told me she was hungry. You know how sensitive I am to hunger!" He looked over at Gus, "Taco John's?"

"You know that's right," Guster agreed with a nod.

O'Hara watched them leave before approaching Lassiter.

"I'm sorry. It just seemed like Shawn knew what he was doing. She wouldn't even look at me."

Lassiter shrugged and gave her a grimace of a smile.

Juliet knew what that look meant and backed off.

"I'm taking her home with me. She'll be in my custody until the trial."

"Good," Juliet said softly, turning towards the interrogation room, "She'll be safe with you. I'll bring over some pizza later, okay?"

"Yeah. Good idea. See you then."

O'Hara turned to leave.

"O'Hara," Lassiter called. She turned towards him. "Thanks."

She smiled brightly at him and nodded before continuing down the hall.

-000-

"Home sweet home," Lassiter mumbled uncomfortably. The ride to his house had been made in silence. Angeline had just stared out into the dark night, flinching at oncoming headlights but otherwise completely still. When they reached his home and he pulled into the garage, she finally turned to look at him.

"There will be security in round-the-clock rotations, and I'll be here with you until the trial, so you don't have to worry," Lassiter explained as he opened the door for her and showed her into his house.

He led her through the kitchen, noting the way her eyes drifted towards the fridge. He wondered how long it had been since she'd last eaten. She wasn't malnourished, he'd had the paramedics check her over, but she was certainly thin enough that he doubted she'd had regular meals.

"This is your room," Carlton said, opening the guest room and flicking on the light, "My room is just next door and the bathroom is across the hall. O'Hara is bringing food in a few minutes." He looked down at Angeline, trying to figure out what she was thinking. Usually he loved quiet, but this absolute silence was beginning to unnerve him.

Angeline watched him carefully out of the corner of her eye as she entered the room. She moved towards the window and looked out onto the moonlit backyard.

"Thank you," she said softly, her eyes never leaving the scenery.

He stood there, looking at her. The cool moonlight lit up her pale, pale skin with a bluish glow. Her dark hair hung half-way down her back, her bare shoulders like boulders peeking out of a dark waterfall. She looked like a wraith: insubstantial and ephemeral.

Lassiter shook his head and stepped out of the room, shutting the door to a crack behind him. He didn't want her to feel trapped, but he did want her to feel like she had some privacy. He closed his eyes for a minute, leaning against the wall.

It wasn't until the doorbell rang that Lassiter realized he was asleep on his feet. Straightening up with a low moan of pain, Carlton went to open the door for his partner.

After the regular pleasantries, he left O'Hara to set the table and went to get Angeline.

He knocked lightly and then opened the door, unsurprised to see her still staring out the window.

"Pizza's here. Come and eat," he said gruffly.

She obediently turned and followed him into the kitchen, pausing for a moment when she spotted Juliet sitting at the kitchen table.

"Hi Angeline!" Juliet said in that perky way she had, "I hope you like pepperoni."

Angeline nodded in her direction, but her eyes were on Lassiter. He pulled out a chair.

"Sit," he said.

Tentatively, she sat down and took the plate and Coke Juliet handed her.

Lassiter grabbed a couple pieces and started to eat as Juliet chattered away around bites. He looked over at Angeline to see her staring down at the food.

"Eat," Carlton ordered, and Juliet shot him a reprimanding glare.

"Everything okay, Angeline?" Juliet asked softly.

Angeline nodded and tucked her hair behind her ear before raising the pizza to take a bite.

Lassiter watched until he was satisfied she would continue eating and then went back to tuning out Juliet's cheery conversation.

"Excuse me?" Angeline said softly, and Lassiter looked over at her, "May I go back to my room now?"

He frowned down at the remnants of the single piece of pizza she'd eaten and the unopened Coke.

"That's all you're going to eat?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir," she replied softly, looking down.

He shrugged, "Go on, then."

She stood and threw away her plate before departing silently.

"That was weird," Juliet observed. Lassiter just shrugged.

After Juliet left, Lassiter cleaned up the kitchen and changed his clothes before remembering what else she'd brought with her. He looked down at his baggy flannel pants and plain white undershirt. He was dressed enough.

He knocked on Angeline's door and waited for a reply.

"Come in."

He opened the door and again found her looking out the window. She turned towards him and gasped lightly, her expression suddenly masked.

Carlton tilted his head slightly, wondering what had caused the reaction, but said nothing. He held out the small pink bag Juliet had left him with.

"O'Hara thought you'd like a change of clothes. They're just her work-out clothes, but they're clean."

Angeline stepped towards him and took the bag, staring at him with an enigmatic expression.

"Thank you."

"Thank O'Hara," Lassiter said, backing out of the room in sudden discomfort.

He sat at the desk cleaning his gun until his back reminded him that he hadn't slept in nearly twenty-four hours. With a low groan, he collapsed into bed, barely managing to flick off the bedside lamp.

He was almost asleep when the low creak of his door opening shot a burst of adrenaline through his body. Feigning sleep, he grasped the gun beneath his pillow.

"Detective Lassiter?" Angeline whispered and he let out the breath he was holding in a deep sigh. He turned over and squinted in the dim light.

"What is it?" he asked, harsher than he had intended. He saw her flinch and he winced.

"I'm sorry. Never mind," she said softly, turning to leave. He sat up. Juliet's clothes were baggy on her, the grey sweatpants low around her hips, the dark blue tank top nearly slipping off her shoulders. He never thought he'd meet anyone smaller than his partner, but apparently Angeline was.

"Wait! I didn't… You just startled me. Did you need something?" Carlton asked, gentling his tone.

Angeline slowly entered his room until she was standing next to his bed. He watched her but said nothing, wondering, for the millionth time it seemed, what was going through her mind.

"Your back hurts," she said simply.

"Yes…" Carlton agreed, wondering where she was going.

"I can help."

"Help?" Carlton asked, his eyebrow cocked.

"Lay on your stomach?" she asked hesitantly.

"How did you know my back hurt?" Carlton asked in return.

Angeline glanced down, "I heard you. In the hall, too. And at dinner, you kept moving and wincing."

"Hmm," Carlton acknowledged. With a sigh, he turned onto his stomach, his hand still wrapped around the weapon under his pillow- just in case.

He felt her climb up onto the bed next to him, her knees pressing against his hip. He scooted over to give her more room, turning his head so he could see her out of the corner of his eye.

"Take off your shirt?"

Carlton sighed into his pillow and carefully pulled his shirt over his head, letting it fall limply to the floor. The twinges in his back had grown to full-on stabs, and he wasn't one to argue with relief.

She started with his shoulders, leaning over to put her weight into it. He watched as the moonlight stripes from his shuttered window played over her face, concentration furrowing her brow. She moved from one shoulder to the other, her hands loosening the knots formed there. She was rocking back and forth, and he nearly choked as she rocked back and leaned down to get a better angle. The front of her tank top gaped open and he got an eyeful of her round, firm breasts. Internally he admonished himself, but he didn't take his eyes off her until she moved out of his view.

He shifted uncomfortably and she paused.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked.

"No,"' he rasped out, glad she wouldn't be able to see the blush that was fighting its way up his cheeks.

She continued her work, running the heels of her hands down his spine. She moved again and he stiffened as he felt a knee on either side of his hips. She was straddling him. And he could definitely say it had been too long since he'd had a woman in his bed.

"Relax," she said softly, working at the knot beneath his shoulder blade.

He started to recite the California Penal Code to distract himself from the feeling of a warm, female body so close to his.

It must have worked because the next thing he knew, he was waking up to his internal alarm clock. The rising sun had just peeked over the horizon, golden light creeping through the blinds.

Something shifted against his chest and he looked down. During the night he'd turned over, and Angeline was lying on his shoulder. Her hand was on his chest, fingers tangled in his dark curls. He brushed her hair off her face, his hand settling across her back.

His hand nearly spanned her entire back. He felt the bump of her spine beneath his palm, the ridges of her ribs against the heel of his hand and between his fingertips. It had taken both her small hands to span his shoulder; he remembered feeling them as they fought to work out the tight knots. Even cuddled into his shoulder, her feet barely reached his knees. She felt fragile, and he felt huge.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Carlton decided to spare them both some embarrassment and rose slowly from the bed. He watched as Angeline continued to sleep, his shoulder replaced by a pillow. With a small sigh of relief, Lassiter changed into his work clothes and strapped on his holster.

Fully equipped, he felt more like himself. He left Angeline sleeping in his bed and started a pot of coffee. Checking in with security, he took the thick file McNabb had dropped off late last night and sat down on the couch to examine the evidence.

It wasn't until his fiftieth sip of coffee that he realized something. He looked down at his favorite mug, still steaming and just how he liked it, and wondered when he'd gotten up to pour a cup. Several cups, he assumed, by the wide-awake feeling of great caffeine pumping through his veins.

Lassiter looked down at the coffee table and picked up the piece of toast and orange segments waiting for him. She… What, she just… She was taking care of him. He quirked a small smile. And no ordering around required.

He quickly consumed the simple breakfast and went back to work, standing occasionally to pin important photos and documents to the corkboard on the wall. O'Hara stopped by for a few seconds on her lunch break, just long enough to hand over the transcripts of the interrogations.

When he stood to turn on the light, Lassiter realized how late it was. And there was some wonderful smell coming from the kitchen. Following his nose, Carlton set down the paperwork and wandered towards the kitchen.

He paused just inside the door. The kitchen gleamed- old appliances showroom perfect. The tile floor had a newly waxed shine and the faint smell of lemons hovered in the air. Angeline stood over the stove, her back to him, stirring away.

"Smells good," Lassiter commented, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Angeline jumped and spun around with a squeak of fear, red-coated spoon held in front of her like a shield.

Lassiter couldn't stifle a small chuckle and Angeline relaxed, turning back to her cooking.

"I made spaghetti. It's not much, but I couldn't find many ingredients," Angeline said.

"Surprised you found that. I usually just eat take-out," Lassiter said as he began to set the table.

Angeline turned at the sound of silverware clattering, looking troubled.

"I can do that," she said softly.

Lassiter looked at her and shrugged, "You cooked and cleaned, apparently."

Angeline went back to her stirring, still looking uncomfortable. She finished and served Lassiter before sitting down to eat.

Lassiter dug in, astonished by the non-canned taste of the sauce.

"It's good!" he complemented, somewhat surprised, "When did you learn to cook?"

His face fell as he watched Angeline put down her fork and swallow hard. When would he learn to keep his big mouth shut?

"My mother taught me," she said softly, "A long time ago."

"Hmm," Lassiter said, "Well, good job."

"Thank you."

They finished their meal in silence and Angeline started on the dishes before he could offer to help. With a shrug, Lassiter went back in the living room to finish his work.

A knock on the door roused him from his study.

"Detective Lassiter, Sir," McNabb greeted him at the door, looking over his shoulder worriedly, "Um, we had a report of shots fired a couple blocks away and we're going to check it out. You'll be without guards until we're back…"

"Understood," Lassiter said, pulling out his Glock, "Report in when you get back."

"Yes, Sir," McNabb agreed quickly.

Lassiter shut the door and threw the three deadbolts, his Glock still in his hand. He made sure the windows and backdoor were secure before approaching Angeline's room. The door was open and her room was empty.

Lassiter's grip on his gun tightened and his heart shot up into his throat. He checked the window, locked, and verified that the bathroom was unoccupied. He'd already checked the windows in his room, the kitchen, and the living room. Where could she be?

A bang from the direction of the garage got his adrenaline pumping. Sliding along the wall, he slowly opened the door to the small utility room just off the kitchen. He froze, gun raised, at the sight.

Angeline had her back to him, bending into the washing machine to retrieve some hard-to-reach article of clothing. She was clad only in one of his white undershirts. He knew it was only because, in her current position, the shirt failed to cover some essentials.

Carlton's mouth dried up and he stood there, unable to utter a sound.

Angeline finally straightened and shook out the grey sweatpants before turning to put them in the dryer.

Spotting Lassiter, she froze; her eyes wide on the gun pointed at her, her expression terrified.

Carlton immediately lowered his weapon, "Sorry," he said, forcing himself to form words, "Security went to check out a report and I couldn't find you."

Angeline shakily completed her laundry, starting the dryer before looking up at Lassiter apprehensively.

"I got some sauce on Detective O'Hara's clothes," she said softly, "And my dress was dirty. It is okay to use your machines?"

"Of course," Lassiter agreed with a puzzled nod.

"I am sorry I am wearing your shirt. I thought… I did not know what to wear. It was on the floor. I will wash it when my clothes are dry."

"No!" Lassiter said, wincing at the fearful expression that flew across her face, "I meant, no, it's perfectly alright for you to wear… it. And you don't have to wash it. It's fine. I like you in it," he winced again, "I mean, I'm glad you're wearing it… something. I'm glad you found something to wear." He stopped talking before he dug himself any deeper.

Angeline was eyeing him strangely, but Carlton decided he needed to regain some control of the situation.

"Come sit in the living room until security returns… Please," he tacked on the politeness.

Angeline nodded and followed him into the living room, sitting on the couch next to him, her legs curled up beneath her.

They both sat staring at the walls for a few minutes before Carlton gathered the courage to make small-talk.

"So… what did you do in the basement all that time?" He rubbed the bridge of his nose, aggravated at himself that even his small-talk turned into an interrogation. He was supposed to be distracting her from the possible imminent attack, not reminding her of what she'd escaped from.

To his surprise, a small smile appeared on her face. She had a nice smile, sweet and soft. She probably tasted like strawberries… Carlton cleared his throat and cut off that line of thought.

"I'd make up stories," she said, her voice quiet but somehow stronger, "Great stories," her eyes met his as she looked up, "Faraway lands where it never got dark. Blue, blue seas and green fields. Little houses on the beach with no basements and no dark rooms. And…" she stopped, a blush rising in her cheeks as she looked down.

"What?" Carlton asked, rubbing the grip of his gun down his thigh soothingly.

"A protector," she whispered, pulling at the ends of her dark hair, "Someone to keep me safe."

A sudden noise from outside made them both stiffen and turn towards the door. Lassiter stood, his gun pointed down but ready.

"Get down," he ordered, taking Angeline's arm and pushing her between the arm of the couch and the end table, "Stay there," he said, raising his gun.

"Be careful," Angeline warned, her voice trembling. He nodded shortly before sliding silently to the door.

A knock startled them both, and Lassiter's eyes narrowed in annoyance.

"Detective Lassiter! We're back, Sir!" McNabb called out, "Just some kids playing with firecrackers."

"10-4," Lassiter acknowledged with a growl, listening as McNabb stomped his way back through the yard.

Lassiter turned to look at Angeline. He'd heard her move but hadn't realized she'd stood up until he turned around.

She was biting her lip.

The lamplight behind her shone through the thin material of his t-shirt and outlined the curves of her body. Her breasts strained against the transparent material as she took short, gasping breaths, her eyes wide in fear.

He took a step towards her, the heavy gun still in his hand.

She released her lip, the skin red and slightly swollen where she'd been worrying it.

Carlton holstered his gun and kissed her. She tasted of strawberries.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

They stumbled back to his bedroom, his lips barely leaving hers long enough to take a breath. She was clinging to his shoulder holster, the leather digging into his back with every step they took. He was half-carrying her, his arm wrapped around her waist as he pressed her up against his chest. His free hand opened his bedroom door and slammed it shut behind them as they shuffled inside.

She was suddenly kneeling on the bed, the extra height allowing her to push his holster down his arms. He let it fall with a heavy thud as her tiny fingers worked on the buttons of his dress shirt, occasionally brushing the heated skin of his chest. He yanked the tie off impatiently, shrugging off the unbuttoned shirt and toeing off his shoes. He moaned lightly as she lowered the zipper of his slacks, the belt and button undone in the few seconds it had taken him to divest himself of his shirt and tie. The pants fell to the floor, leaving him clad in only his plain black boxers, obviously tented.

She moved to his waistband, but he grabbed her wrists before she could touch him. She looked up at him, confusion wrinkling her brow.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice husky with desire.

She smiled a little, her swollen lips deliciously pink.

"Yes, Detective Lassiter," she said softly.

"Carlton," he gasped as he released her hands and her cool fingertips brushed his hip.

"Yes, Carlton," she repeated as his boxers slid down his legs.

He grabbed her arms again before she could move and lifted her to lay back on the bed, his body hovering over hers. He rested his hand on her thigh, tracing his way up her body as he slowly removed her garment. He dropped the shirt to the floor and leaned back to take in the view all at once.

She stared up at him with those wide, dark, unfathomable eyes, looking adorably disheveled and overwhelmed.

"Carlton?" she whispered, and he swallowed hard as she unconsciously licked her lips.

-000-

When he awoke the next morning he felt pleasantly sore all over. He looked down at the comforting, warm weight across his body. She hadn't shifted positions since they'd finished last night, and he didn't blame her as he'd been rather worn out himself.

Her knees nestled comfortably along his thighs, the soft skin of her breasts warm against the hard plains of his abs. Her long hair flowed down his side to pool on the bed, her gentle exhalations tickling the hair on his chest.

He shifted; the sticky coolness of his lower extremities slightly uncomfortable. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to wake up tired, sore, and sticky and love it.

He was quickly reminded that his body had a longer memory than he did when Angeline stirred. He tried to stay completely still as she raised her head and blinked sleepily at him.

"Morning," he rumbled, slightly breathless from her weight.

"Morning," she replied, stifling a yawn. She moved to sit up and then stopped, raising an eyebrow at him in amusement.

"Again?" she teased, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

Carlton gave a self-conscious grin but nodded. No sense denying what she could clearly feel.

"Shower," she said simply, rolling off him and standing with a slight stagger.

Carlton frowned. He'd had one night, no need to be greedy. Besides, he was no good at relationships. When did he even start thinking about her… them… as a relationship? No. They'd had fun. It had been good. And now it was over. He needed to get his head back on right.

She turned, standing naked and beautiful in the doorway.

"Coming?" she asked.

His breath caught in his chest and he nodded, obediently rising to follow her into the bathroom.

-000-

She was wearing his shirt; a button-down this time, but even more see-through than the last. Every time she moved he got a glimpse of another glorious part of her body. She was trying to kill him.

He swallowed as she leaned down to set his cup of coffee on the table, the collar opening wide to allow him a good eyeful before she stood up and swayed over to the stove.

Pancakes liberally doused with syrup filled his thoughts for a few seconds before Angeline sat down opposite him and casually crossed her legs. The sticky, sweet condiment suddenly had several uses he was dying to try out.

There was a knock at the door, followed almost immediately by a very recognizable voice.

"Lassie! Open up! It's your friendly, neighborhood psychic!"

"And pharmaceutical rep!" Gus added.

Lassiter groaned. The morning had been going so well…

Angeline disappeared into the utility room and Lassiter went to answer the door, knowing the annoying psychic and his sidekick wouldn't go away.

"What do you want, Spencer?" Lassiter growled as he flung open the door.

Spencer ignored him, sliding into the room casually with Gus riding his coattails.

"Whoa! Good morning, to you too! And where's the beautiful Angeline this fair A.M.?" Spencer asked, peeking under the couch like he was looking for a lost kitten.

"Changing," Lassiter snapped.

"Hope she doesn't change too much," Spencer said with a grin, "I like her just the way she is."

Carlton rolled his eyes but bit back the sarcastic comment that hovered on the tip of his tongue. He turned his back on Spencer, knowing how long the psychic took to get to the point, and returned to the kitchen to finish his breakfast.

Like the oversized puppy he was, Spencer followed him, perching on the edge of the counter.

"Ooh, pancakes," Guster noted, taking one off the stove and preparing a plate for himself. Spencer pouted when Gus refused to share, but was distracted by Angeline emerging from the utility room.

"Well, don't you look all Flash Dance," Spencer exclaimed, hopping down from the counter.

Angeline looked at him in confusion while Carlton blinked back the all-too sensual images that appeared in his mind.

"O'Hara lent her some clothes," Lassiter said, trying to nudge Spencer past the 80s references.

"Speaking of clothes…" Spencer started and Lassiter nearly sighed in relief. At last they were coming to the point. Angeline gave Spencer and Co a wide berth, moving to his side. She rested her hand on his shoulder, her pinky teasing the fine hairs on his neck.

"It's Halloween tomorrow, and I figured we could come to some decisions about our costumes. We don't want to clash, after all!" Spencer added with a grin.

"Our? Spencer, I don't know what planet you're living on, but I wouldn't be caught dead in a costume!" Lassiter said with a shudder of revulsion. What kind of holiday had a bunch of wackos running around in masks? A criminal one.

"How about undead? Or mostly dead? Well, if you're all dead then there's nothing I can do…" Spencer quipped.

Lassiter stood, one hand clutching at his holstered gun while the other fell to Angeline's waist.

"If that's all you came here for, feel free to leave now. In fact, I insist!" Lassiter growled.

Spencer's eyes followed his hand, his eyes widening slightly as his grin grew.

"You know you'd make an excellent Dread Pirate Roberts? You've even got a Princess Buttercup!"

"Spencer!" Lassiter snarled, stepping forward threateningly. Guster yanked on his friend's arm, pulling him towards the front door.

"Han Solo? Indiana Jones? Croc Dundee? Kyle Reese?" Spencer continued while being dragged backwards towards safety.

"Who?" Lassiter paused, trying to remember what esoteric reference the psychic was plastering him with now.

"You know, John Connor's father. The guy that knocked up Sarah in the first Terminator! Of course, you'd have to get Angeline to agree to be Sarah…"

"SPENCER!" Lassiter shouted, his face turning purple.

Guster had the sense to shove his friend out the door before Lassiter could strangle or shoot him.

"Coming over to see your costume tomorrow! Don't forget!" Spencer yelled as they drove off in that ridiculous blue car.

Lassiter slammed the door, fuming.

-000-

After Spencer's interruption, things got back to normal. Lassiter returned to analyzing and Angeline disappeared, entering the living room only long enough to refill his coffee.

O'Hara called, telling him all about the new case she was working on while he was indisposed; some random car-jacking of a decorator's van.

Lassiter nodded and hummed in response as he half-listened. There was something about this case that was really bugging him. Something just didn't add up. The men they'd captured were tight-lipped, despite the fact that they'd been told there was an eye-witness to their crimes. Not one of them had rolled over. And there was another thing: on the few documents they'd recovered, mostly through burn-phone call histories and text messages, there were at least three men missing the night of the raid.

Lassiter flipped closed the thin file next to him and loosened his tie. He could hear, and smell, Angeline cooking in the kitchen and wondered what she'd dug up now. Whatever it was, it smelled delicious.

He stood and stretched, long-unused muscles gratifyingly sore. A grin fought its way onto his face. Maybe an early night was in order? After all, they hadn't had much sleep last night.

As if in answer to his increasingly lascivious thoughts, Angeline called his name.

"Carlton! Dinner's ready!"

When Lassiter strode into the kitchen he noted that she'd already set the table, complete with a small shot-glass of some light-brown liquid. He picked it up, sniffed, and immediately started coughing.

He looked up through watering eyes to see Angeline giggling quietly.

"Vinegar?" he questioned, placing the glass carefully down.

"It's for the spinach," Angeline said, handing him his plate. Lassiter looked down and balked at the noxious-looking pile of green in the corner. The rest of the plate, however, more than made up for it.

"Fried pork chops?" Lassiter asked in astonishment, trying to remember the last time he'd bought pork.

Angeline smiled and sat down across from him.

"I found them in the back of the freezer. And mashed potatoes with gravy."

Carlton's eyes widened as he took a cautious bite of the fluffy white potatoes covered in a creamy, black-speckled sauce.

"Real gravy?" he muttered, "Not from a can or a pouch?"

Angeline shrugged and nodded casually, taking a bite.

Lassiter decimated his potatoes before he even took a bite of his pork, but he was not disappointed. The meat was crunchy on the outside, juicy on the inside, and positively dripping fat. Just the way he liked it. Seasoned simply with salt and pepper, Carlton didn't think he'd ever tasted anything so good.

"Glad to see you like it," Angeline said with a small smirk, watching as he devoured the meat. She drizzled some vinegar over her spinach and sprinkled it with salt before taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully.

Lassiter eyed the green tangle with distrust.

"Try it with vinegar. Just a little," Angeline suggested.

Lassiter continued to glare at it without eating. Angeline sighed.

"You need some kind of vegetable. And, no, potatoes don't count."

With a huff and a half-hearted grumble, Lassiter medicated his spinach and cautiously took a tiny bite. He looked up at Angeline with wide eyes. She nodded knowingly.

"It's good!" Lassiter exclaimed, taking another bite.

"Cooked it with a little bouillon for flavor. Not vegetarian, but we don't have to worry about that, do we?" Angeline smirked as he inhaled the rest of his greenery.

This time Lassiter washed the dishes as she dried and put them away. The pan she'd made the gravy in was especially difficult to scrub and Angeline finally took it from him and filled it with water.

"Let it soak for a bit," she advised, "Don't work so hard."

Lassiter strode forward, pinning her into the corner of the counter, his wet hands firmly planted against the countertop as he leaned towards her.

Her fingers played with the damp edges of his rolled-up sleeves as she stared up at him, her lips slightly parted and dark eyes hooded.

"You're right. I've been working too hard," Carlton growled, "I think I'll take tonight off."

Angeline nodded mutely, licking her lips as she looked into his incredibly blue eyes; his pupils wide and dark.

His hands moved to her waist, lifting her to sit on the edge of the counter. The strap of her tank top fell off one shoulder and he replaced it with his lips, biting gently before laving away the pain with a flick of his tongue. Angeline gasped, her hands sliding up his back to tangle in his hair. As he continued biting, licking, and sucking on her neck, she threw her head back with a quiet, drawn-out moan of pleasure that shot straight through him.

Carlton shivered and concentrated on the junction of her neck and shoulder. She'd be marked there later and he liked the thought of seeing his mark on her body. He finally pulled away, yanking her towards him as he straightened. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her fingers cradling the back of his neck as he lifted her from the counter. She began her own exploration of his neck as he stumbled towards the bedroom.


	5. Chapter 5

The beginning of this chapter's soundtrack is "Serenity" by Deepak Chopra and Adam Plack

WARNING: Sensitive material

Chapter 5

They managed to stay awake long enough to clean up a bit. Now, spooned together in their bed, Carlton settled his hand on her stomach, his calloused thumb brushing gently under her breasts.

"Carlton," Angeline whispered, her hand reaching up to cover his, "What will happen after the trial?"

Carlton frowned.

"Your brother and his cohorts will be put in jail for a long time."

She shook her head.

"No, I meant…" her voice fell so low he could barely hear, "us."

Carlton stiffened, pulling away from her slightly.

"I…" he started to respond without knowing what he was going to say.

He hadn't really thought about the future. Falling silent, his mind spun furiously, picking up and discarding various solutions.

She turned over and put her hand on his chest, her eyes glinting wetly in the dim light.

"No," she said softly, her voice catching, "Don't… Don't answer that. I shouldn't have asked."

"Angeline, I…"

She cut him off, kissing him before he could finish whatever he was going to say. She pulled on his shoulder, guiding him over her body once more.

-000-

She was asleep now, clinging to him as if he would disappear. He stroked her long, straight hair, flowing down her back like a dark satin sheet.

It suddenly felt over, this dream-like state he'd spent the last day in, and he couldn't even tell why. Nothing had changed, and yet everything had.

He wanted to stay like this. He liked this. She wasn't demanding, respected his work, followed the rules, and was sexy as hell. Why did he have to give this up? Why couldn't she stay with him?

She seemed happy here. She liked cooking for him and cleaning. The smell of furniture polish lingered in the air and she'd made the bed; he'd noted before they fell into it. Living with him had to be better than alone in that dark basement.

He could ask her to stay. After the trial she'd need some place to live. Why not with him? He'd take care of her financially, and it wasn't like she had an education or a career.

They could move. She wanted a beach house, right? It'd have to be small, but he could afford it. Besides, he liked small. They didn't need much room. Victoria had picked this house; he'd always thought it was too big for just the two of them, but she'd wanted a guest room and an office.

The beach house would have to have two bedrooms, though. One for the kids.

Lassiter's absent stroking paused and he swallowed hard.

Kids? He was thinking about children with her?

He closed his eyes; a picture of a raven-haired little boy running in the sand, his dark eyes laughing. Angeline carried another small boy in her arms, his big blue eyes just visible over the thumb stuck in his mouth.

He blinked back suspicious moisture as he stared down at the slim woman lying beside him. Too fast. This was all happening too fast. He was going to get burnt again.

He started to pull away; to get out of that bed and away from his treacherous thoughts.

"Carlton," Angeline murmured, her eyes tightly closed as her fingers dug into his chest, "Don't leave me," she whispered, sounding heartbroken and destitute.

He stopped, settling back against the pillows. Her grip relaxed as she snuggled into his side, apparently still asleep.

Carlton sighed deeply and resumed his steady stroking.

"I'm not going anywhere," he breathed, frowning deeply.

-000-

She was gone when he awoke. He looked over at her side of the bed and felt a familiar pain at the emptiness.

Joints popping loudly as he stood, Carlton shuffled his way towards the kitchen. He usually took the time to dress first, but the effort seemed beyond him at the moment. Boxers would be modest enough for a cup of coffee.

He sighed when he reached the unoccupied kitchen. Starting the coffee pot, he leaned over and rested his head against the cabinets, inhaling the aroma of the percolating beans.

Cold metal touched his back and he straightened with a gasp.

"Quiet, pig," the man behind him snarled, pressing the muzzle of his gun harder into Lassiter's spine.

Lassiter raised his hands unthreateningly as another man, blonde and thin, tattoo of a snake across right wrist, appeared in his peripheral vision. That made at least two. How had they gotten past security? How had they gotten inside his house?

Lassiter's blood thundered in his ears. Where was Angeline?

The cold metal of his handcuffs tightened around his wrists. He almost tried to take the opportunity to escape, but the second man had him covered.

"Whatever you're planning, you won't get away with it," Lassiter threatened, wincing as the man yanked his bound hands higher up his back.

"Walk," the man growled, pushing Lassiter forwards, the gun still drilling into his back.

Carlton shuffled forwards, watching for any opportunity. They reached the hallway and a third man, large and imposing, dragon tattoo up his neck and across his bald pate, stood waiting. Carlton's stomach dropped. Two he could take. Three was asking a bit much. Where was McNabb when you needed him?

The men pushed him to Angeline's door and Carlton swallowed hard. They knew where she was. They had been watching. This was planned. This was very, very bad.

The man to his right reached forward and flung open the door to her room.

For a moment, Carlton stood alone in the doorway. Angeline was standing by the window, looking out at the backyard. She'd been crying; the salty trails of tears drying on her pale cheeks. She turned towards him, her brow furrowed.

"Carlton?" she asked, taking a step towards him.

The man shoved him hard, and Lassiter stumbled into her room, falling to his knees.

Angeline screamed- a short pained cry of hopeless fright- as the three men entered the room.

"Hello Angel," Carlton's captor greeted, "Your brother says hi."

"Daemon," Angeline choked out, her eyes wide and fearful, "Biel, Lucien, what? What do you want?"

Daemon grabbed a fistful of Lassiter's hair, pulling his head back as the gun pressed into his temple. Lassiter finally got a look at his captor and tried to memorize his features. Crew-cut brown hair, a scar across his left cheekbone, and the glint of a gold tooth.

"It's more like what we don't want, Angel. Namely, you testifying."

"Done," Angeline agreed quickly, "I won't say a word. I won't remember anything. Just, please, let him go," she begged.

Daemon laughed.

"You really think we're going to just go away now? After all the trouble we've gone through already? I don't think so!" He released Lassiter's hair and shoved him towards Biel and Lucien.

Lassiter landed heavily on his shoulder, unable to slow his fall.

"Lucien, secure him," Daemon ordered. The thin blonde man nodded in agreement.

Lassiter tried to pull away as Lucien drug him back towards the radiator. If they got him chained to that, there was no way he could disarm them.

He managed to turn enough to land a kick on the back of Lucien's leg, causing the man to fall to his knees for a moment. Taking the opportunity, Carlton scrambled to his feet and managed a few steps towards Daemon before meaty hands grabbed his wrists and sent him sailing into the wall.

"Carlton!" Angeline cried.

He saw stars as his head slammed into the plaster, a whoosh of air escaping his chest, and everything turned black.

He was suddenly back on the floor, his arms locked to the radiator.

He shook his head, forcing his eyes to focus.

"Let him go!" Angeline cried, "Please, don't hurt him!"

Biel had one massive hand on her shoulder, her hands cuffed behind her back as she leaned towards Carlton. Lucien and Daemon stood over Lassiter, glowering down menacingly.

Lassiter was not intimidated.

"When I get free, you'll be in jail for the rest of your lives. Assaulting an officer, breaking and entering, assault with a deadly weapon…"

Lassiter's list was cut short as Daemon's booted foot impacted his ribcage.

"Shut up, pig!"

A second kick left Lassiter with a split lip, blood filling his mouth as he blinked back the darkness that threatened to engulf him once again.

"Daemon, stop!" Angeline begged.

Daemon turned towards her, striding forward and backhanding her across the face.

"I don't take orders from you!" he snarled, grabbing her hair and pulling her head back so she looked up at him.

His eyes fell to her bare shoulder, the strap of her tank top once again slipping off. A dark hicky was plainly visible on her pale skin. Daemon's eyes shot over to Lassiter.

"Been having a bit of fun with our toy?" he asked bitterly, "I should shoot you both, right now," he growled, smirking as Angeline's eyes filled with tears, "But I have a better idea…"

Daemon kissed her, his lips hard and unyielding as she struggled fruitlessly to pull away.

"Don't touch her!" Lassiter shouted, fighting to stand against his restraints.

Daemon pulled away from her and chuckled darkly as he glared at Lassiter.

"Oh, I'll do much more than that," he said with a sadistic grin.

Sniggers from Lucien and Biel sent Lassiter's stomach plunging, and his thoughts spun as he tried to come up with a plan.

Angeline cried and fought futilely as Daemon threw her onto the bed, Lucien and Biel holding down her legs.

"Please, no! Don't! Please!" Angeline wept.

Lassiter cursed and threatened, yanking against his handcuffs.

"Get off her! Don't touch her! Get your hands off her!" he yelled, his tone one that would have had rookies peeing their pants.

The three men ignored him.

Daemon pressed her into the bed with his body, her bound hands causing her back to arch up into him. One of his hands was still tangled in her hair, holding her down as he yanked down her pants. Biel and Lucien pulled them fully from her body as Daemon ripped off her tank top, seams shredding like tissue beneath his iron grip.

Angeline screamed, her voice shaking and high-pitched.

"Carlton, help me!" she cried, her desperate words like daggers.

Daemon laughed, looking over at the struggling detective.

"He's not going to help you," Daemon declared, "He'll just watch."

Lassiter stopped for a moment, his blue eyes narrowed in hate as he met Daemon's triumphant sneer.

"I am going to kill you," Carlton said with quiet sincerity, stating a fact.

For a split second, Daemon's face froze uncertainly. Then, with a surge of anger, he forced Angeline's mouth open and stuck his tongue down her throat.

His hands were on her breasts, kneading and squeezing too hard to be pleasurable. His fingers twisted, ignoring the little squeaks of pain fighting their way past his insistent tongue.

He finally released her mouth and descended to her chest as she gulped in air. Drawing blood with his 'love-bites', Daemon worked his way from one breast to the other; crimson tear-drops appearing in his wake, and her cries vibrating against his lips.

He pulled away just enough to look down at her. Bleeding and crying, her lips swollen and bruised, her eyes shut as she trembled beneath him.

The lowering of his zipper produced another round of even louder cursing from Lassiter, and he couldn't suppress a triumphant chuckle.

Angeline shrieked as he entered her, her voice sputtering out to gasping sobs, in rhythm with his pounding.

Tears of frustration and anger fell unnoticed from Lassiter's eyes as he stared at the travesty playing out in front of him that he was helpless to prevent.

Angeline's sobs trailed off into pained whimpers as Daemon continued his movements. She turned her head and opened her eyes, her shamed and hopeless gaze flitting over Carlton's.

Trying to send her strength, Carlton stared into her eyes, refusing to let her look away. For a few moments it worked. She looked at him instead of through him, studying his expression with a kind of hungry desperation.

Then Daemon collapsed on top of her with a loud cry of ecstasy.

He took a few moments to recover, still rocking slowly.

"So good, Angel, as usual," he moaned as he rolled off of her and stood.

Biel and Lucien had released her legs long ago, their hands disappearing down their pants.

Despite her momentary freedom, Angeline didn't move. Her eyes were still staring in Lassiter's direction, but the empty, unfocused gaze told him she no longer saw what was in front of her. For one long, terrible second, Carlton thought she might be dead.

"Angeline!" he cried, slipping against the hardwood floor, slick with his blood. He'd long ago lost any feeling in his hands and wrists, his shoulders nearly wrenched from their sockets in his struggle.

She blinked, a tear escaping her eye, but her expression didn't change.

Daemon left to clean himself up, sneering down at Lassiter as he passed. He stopped in the doorway.

"Lucien, you first. Then Biel. I know how he stretches things," Daemon said with a snort of amusement.

Carlton looked at Angeline in horror.

"No," he whispered, his voice too tight to scream, "Not again. Not Again!" he yelled, squirming futilely as Lucien mounted Angeline's insensate form.

-000-

Lassiter never looked away. He catalogued each bruise, each cut, each moan of pain, storing them, filing them and tacking them to the list of reasons why the three men were going to die by his hands.

He'd given up pulling on his restraints and kneeled in a pool of his own blood, piercing blue eyes measuring and calculating. The silence did more to unnerve Daemon than the shouting ever had.

The sounds of screams and moans still permeated the sweat and blood-soaked room, emanating from outside; where the unfeeling world celebrated its orgy of candy and costumes and imitation fear. They knew nothing of real fear, real pain, real agony and suffering.

Daemon had a coil of rope in his hands. Throwing one end over the ceiling fan above the bed, he quickly tied a slip-knot and lowered the noose over Angeline's limp neck, pulling her to her knees. Lucien and Biel had already left, preparing for their escape.

Leaving her wobbling unsteadily on the bed, her face shrouded by curtains of tangled hair, Daemon loomed over Lassiter.

"What? No threats? No begging?"

Lassiter glared up at him, the cut on his lip making him look wild and feral.

"Just a promise," he rasped, "You're all dead men."

Daemon sneered at him and flipped a switch, the heavy hum of the straining fan motor echoing in the room.

The rope curled around the fan, slowly forcing Angeline to her feet. The knot dug in below her chin, drawing blood from the already tender skin.

Daemon and Lassiter watched in silence as her toes lost their purchase and she dangled lifelessly from the fan, still spinning in slow circles.

Daemon flipped off the switch and drew his gun, screwing on the silencer.

As he aimed, his eyes met Lassiter's unflinching glare.

"Goodbye, pig," Daemon spat, angry that he felt so afraid of a bound, soon to be dead, man.

He shot, watching the cop's eyes snap shut as the bullet tore through his gut.

Unscrewing the silencer, Daemon left. His work was complete.


	6. Chapter 6

A roll of virtual duct tape to the reviewer who names both the origin of Shawn's costume and the name of the bad-guy's van.

Chapter 6

Shawn Spencer was nervous. He couldn't explain it. Usually, Halloween was the best night of the year. Fun costumes, candy and parties everywhere, what could be better? But there was something wrong.

"I'm telling you, Gus, something's fishy."

"The only thing fishy around here is this costume! Where did you get it? It reeks of tuna!" Gus griped, sniffing experimentally at the arm of his outfit.

"Don't be a two day old fish taco, Gus! Do you know how hard it is to find a vintage Enos and Turk costume set? Besides, you're working the whole black pleather vest thing!"

"You know that's right," Gus sniffed, thumbing his nose, "But I don't think Lassiter's going to appreciate the Mountie hat and cop uniform on you."

"Please, Gus! It clearly states, right here on my badge, that I'm a member of the LAPD, not the SBPD. So, no worries, Mr. Giggle-pants Jones!"

"Don't call me that," Gus warned as they turned on Lassiter's street.

"Whoa!" Shawn shouted as Gus swerved to avoid getting side-swiped by the white van barreling around the corner. He caught a glimpse of three men, two with tattoos and one with a rather remarkable scar, and noted the name and license plate of the vehicle.

"You better have gotten their tag number, Shawn, because I'm reporting them to their boss for unsafe driving! Don't they know there are kids running around today?" Gus exclaimed, gripping his steering wheel angrily.

"You'd think they'd know that," Shawn agreed, "Seeing as how they're from the 'Halloween Knights' company. I didn't know they had decorators for Halloween? Why didn't I ever have that job?"

"Yeah, that's the one job you missed out on," Gus said with a roll of his eyes.

"You're just jealous that I was a geisha-guy one summer."

"Okay, number one: geishas are girls. And number two: eww!"

"Don't be a sexist sumo wrestler, Gus. Geishas are equal opportunity employers!"

"I really, really, don't want to know, Shawn. Wait a minute, isn't that Lassiter's place?"

Shawn and Gus pulled into the driveway, parking the blueberry behind Lassie's Crown Vic and looking up to the porch in shock.

"He decorated? The man who nearly shot you for suggesting he wear a costume decorated?" Gus exclaimed, following Shawn up the steps to examine the elaborate set-up.

It was creepy; Gus had to give it that.

One skeleton dangled from the roof, apparently a victim of hanging. Its hands were locked behind its back with plastic cuffs, a long black wig decorating its head. The tattered brown dress it wore just added to the creep-factor.

The other skeleton was cuffed to the bench beside the door, lying on its side and looking up at the hanging skeleton. It was clothed only in a pair of plain boxers, cause of death less apparent. A plastic sheriff's badge dangled from its rib cage ominously.

"Shawn…" Gus whispered, looking over at his friend with wide eyes.

Shawn didn't respond; his eyes fixed on the speakers set up under the bench. He was noticeably pale, and Gus tuned into what he'd thought was a Halloween soundtrack; full of spooky moans and screams.

"Get away from her!"

Gus nearly fell to the ground as Lassiter's raspy whisper emanated from the speakers, a woman sobbing in the background. She screamed, obscuring whatever litany of curses Lassiter's hoarse voice managed.

"Gus, where's Buzz?" Shawn breathed, his throat tight with anxiety.

Gus looked around, noticing for the first time that security was nowhere to be seen.

His eyes met Shawn's.

"This is not good," Gus whispered, jackal mode kicking in. Shawn nodded shortly.

"Call Jules. We need back-up."

Gus obediently dialed as Shawn shuffled in pent-up concern.

"Juliet?" Gus asked as she picked up. Shawn snatched his phone from him and put it on speaker.

"Gus, you there? Everything okay?" Juliet asked.

"No, everything's not okay!" Shawn said quickly, "You've got to get to Lassie's, fast, and bring back-up. And an ambulance."

"Carlton's? What is it, Shawn? What's the matter?"

"No time to explain, you'll see when you get here. Just hurry. And put a BOLO out for a late-model white Ford E350, license plate Y50NTX, registered to a company called Halloween Knights. Three suspects, armed and dangerous. " Shawn hung up without waiting for a reply, knowing that Juliet would break land-speed records to get to her partner.

"Shawn, what are you going to do? We need to wait for Juliet!" Gus whispered frantically as Shawn pulled out his key-ring and flipped to the one with the tiny handcuff sticker on it. Lassiter's door opened soundlessly.

"When did Lassiter give you a key to his house?" Gus asked, looking doubtfully over at his friend.

"Define give," Shawn said as he slipped into the house, eyes searching for clues.

"What if the bad guys are still here?" Gus asked quietly.

"They almost ran us over on their way out, Gus. What better cover than Halloween decorators? They could have come out of the house covered in blood and no one would have looked twice."

Gus shuddered and paled at the image, following his friend down the hall. Bloody boot-prints grew more defined as they traveled deeper into the house, and Gus' bile rose at the thought of how they'd find their friend.

Shawn stopped outside a closed door, looking down with sick fascination. Gus tried to breathe through his mouth, the heavy metallic tang of blood wafting up strongly from the small lake that oozed beneath the door.

The two friends looked at each other before Shawn reached out and gently pushed the door open.

"Oh my God," Gus breathed, almost as pale as Angeline's body as it dangled from the ceiling fan. Shawn took in the scene with a swallow and then fell to his knees beside the crumpled, crimson-coated body of his friend.

"Lassie," he moaned, holding his breath as he reached to feel for a pulse.

A girly shriek of fear escaped his lips as Lassiter's blue eyes shot open.

"Spenser," Lassie rasped, blood flowing disturbingly from his lips as he spoke, "Daemon, Lucien, Biel. Tell O'Hara. Get them." He curled up tighter as he started to cough wetly, and Shawn looked over at Gus with a helpless expression.

Gus swallowed his squeamishness and tried to be of help.

"I'll get towels. You'll need to put pressure on the wound."

Shawn nodded, unchaining Lassiter's hands with the set of handcuff keys he kept on his person, just in case. He laid the detective in the recovery position, wincing as he watched the large man's eyes fill with tears.

"Get her down," Lassiter begged, his eyes moving pleadingly to Shawn, "Please."

Shawn nodded and swallowed his own tears, turning to Angeline's abused and naked body.

It didn't take a psychic to figure out what she'd gone through before she died. Shawn could barely stand the thought of desecrating her body anymore, but he'd do it for Lassie.

Gus returned with the towels and, with a quick whisper-fight, agreed to put pressure on the hole in Lassie's gut.

Shawn stood on the bed, releasing Angeline's hands from their restraints before gently taking ahold of her waist and lifting her slightly. He managed to loosen the rope and slip it free, her body falling limply against his. He lowered her to the bed.

"Let me see her," Lassiter demanded, trying to sit up. He fell back with a groan of pain, losing the little color he had.

"Hold still," Gus admonished, looking up at Shawn and cocking his head. Shawn sighed deeply and nodded.

Shawn gently wrapped Angeline's body in the less-than-clean sheet and picked her up gently, lying her down next to Lassiter.

Gus kept his eyes firmly on the wall, refusing to look at the wound his hands were covering and the battered body of someone he'd met.

Shawn couldn't take his eyes off Lassie. The older man reached out a torn-up hand, his wrist horribly self-mutilated, and gently brushed aside Angeline's hair.

He ran a finger across her closed eyes, cupping her cheek in his hand.

"I wanted to tell you about the beach house," Carlton whispered softly, tears slowly leaking from his eyes.

Shawn and Gus looked at each other, trying to give the man some privacy.

"I'd made up my mind," Lassiter continued, "It'd be a small house, but right on the beach. Sunny and open, just like you wanted," Carlton's voice caught and he coughed wetly for a few heart-stopping moments. He looked up at Gus and Shawn, hovering worriedly over him, and gave them a reassuring nod before gazing back down at Angeline.

"I even…" Carlton's voice broke and Shawn swallowed hard at the sound of the half-sob that escaped his throat, "Two kids. Boys. The older one had your eyes. The little one sucked his thumb. Have to make him stop that," Lassiter finished with a wet chuckle, his head falling back.

Gus was crying silently; true tears this time and not just sympathetic ones. Shawn tried to hold it together, the howl of sirens growing louder as they quickly approached.

"Lassie," Shawn spoke. Carlton cut him off.

"Thanks for coming, Spencer. Sorry I ruined your Halloween. Tell O'Hara to nail those…"

Lassiter's voice faded with a strangled gasp, an expression of surprise flitting across his face before his eyes closed and he fell utterly still.

"Lassie!" Shawn cried, tapping lightly on the older man's cheeks.

"Shawn," Gus whimpered, "I don't think he's bleeding anymore."

Shawn's frantic eyes shot down to the blood-soaked rags in Gus' hands, and he looked back up at his friend helplessly.


	7. Chapter 7

A tiny bit of Shules snuck in here. How did that happen?

Chapter 7

The skeletons only gave her a moment's pause as Detective Juliet O'Hara charged into her partner's house, the door disturbingly left wide open.

"Carlton! Shawn! Gus!" she called, her weapon pointing to the ceiling, Buzz McNabb right on her heels.

"Jules! Back here! Hurry!" Shawn called, the frantic tone in his voice shooting adrenalin through her system faster than an extra-large Red Bull.

Silently directing others to secure the perimeter, Juliet and her giant shadow ran down Carlton's hallway, skidding to a stop at the sight that greeted them in the guest room.

An out-of-character expletive erupted simultaneously from Juliet and Buzz's mouths, and the large man turned a disturbing shade of green.

Juliet reached for her radio.

"Officer and civilian down! I repeat officer and civilian down. I need a medic in here, ASAP!" Her voice was the snap of fire, simmering anger threatening to boil over at the sight of her bloodied partner.

"He just stopped breathing," Shawn said, looking up at her from his place by her partner's side.

Gus, usually the queasiest person at a crime scene, was putting pressure on what looked like a huge hole in her partner's belly.

Juliet swallowed her fear.

"Angeline?" she asked, mentally prioritizing their injuries.

Shawn glanced over at the rope dangling from the ceiling fan.

"She was… gone when we found them," he said softly.

Juliet managed to remain standing by sheer will-power. There was a cracking sound behind her and she glanced over her shoulder to see a part of the doorframe splintered in McNabb's hand.

Juliet was about to fall down on the floor next to her partner and start mouth to mouth when the paramedics finally arrived.

They pushed Shawn and Gus aside as they got to work, immediately intubating Carlton and spouting medic-speak that only a physician, or Gus, could follow. A second gurney arrived as soon as the first left, the EMTs kneeling over Angeline's body. Buzz scrambled from the room as they pulled aside the sheet, revealing the damage done to her.

Juliet didn't blame him. She held back her own reaction, and her desperate need to follow her partner, and waited impatiently for forensics to show up so she could see to Carlton.

Gus and Shawn leaned against each other, their shoulders touching in mute comfort. They were both covered in blood, their costumes destroyed. The familiar shell-shocked look of victims graced both their faces.

The silence was broken by a startled exclamation.

"Intubate, now!" one EMT cried, a flurry of activity surrounding his words.

Shawn and Gus straightened, looks of shock painting their faces.

"She's alive?" Juliet asked in surprise.

"Barely," the EMT commented as they rushed past her.

The three friends stumbled out to the front porch and watched the ambulance drive away, sirens blaring.

-000-

She was screaming. He could still hear her screaming. Carlton fought against the restraints, pain ripping across his gut as he twisted. The warm trickle running down his side ignored, Carlton grunted; choking on whatever what in his mouth, down his throat.

Bile rose in his throat at the thought of what was in his mouth, the acid taste boiling above the grip of agony that clutched his stomach. He tried to lift his feet, to kick out, terror reaching new heights as he realized that they, too, were bound. He was bound hand and feet, naked, to a bed; the hard mattress rough beneath the skin of his bare back.

No, no, God, no. After everything he'd seen her put through, she couldn't be watching as they did the same to him. He wouldn't live through that, he couldn't. She wouldn't stop screaming.

Carlton forced open his eyes. A blond head hovered above him and he flinched away. Lucien- had to be. Fingers touched his cheek and he jerked as far away as the restraints would allow. She was still screaming.

The white room was unfamiliar. No, no, no. They'd taken them. They'd never be found. No one would find them. No.

He tried to scream, to curse and threaten, but it was still in his throat, choking him. He couldn't breathe; the room spinning around him.

Without his conscious choice his body rebelled, muscles refusing to struggle. He collapsed back into the bed, chest heaving as he tried to take in air. It wouldn't let him. She was still screaming.

He glared up at Lucien, cursing him internally even as the world greyed at the edges.

A firm slap across the cheek brought the world into sudden, sharp focus. The screaming, equally as loud, now formed words.

"Quit freaking out and breathe, Carlton! That's an order!" Juliet shrieked, inches from his face.

Lassiter froze, looking up at her with wide, finally conscious blue eyes.

"You're on a ventilator. You have to relax and let it breathe for you," Juliet said, trying to lower her voice to a more civil tone.

Carlton numbly complied, the machine pumping glorious oxygen into his lungs. After a few slow breaths, modulated completely by the machine, Juliet finally relaxed enough to punch the nurse call button.

Seemingly between one blink and the next a nurse appeared, her teal scrubs bright against the white walls.

"He's torn out some stitches," the nurse tutted, lifting the edge of the bandages that wrapped around his torso.

"Can he come off the ventilator?" Juliet asked, her typical smile absent.

The nurse frowned but nodded.

Another blank period and his mouth was suddenly empty and bone dry.

"Water," he rasped, turning his head to look for Juliet. She reappeared in his vision and spooned some ice chips into his mouth.

Sucking carefully on the little shards of mercy, Lassiter tried to piece together his memories.

His nose itched and he reached up to scratch it, grunting in surprise as his arms met resistance. He looked down at the restraints encircling his forearm, his wrists swathed in bandages.

O'Hara set down the cup of ice and freed him, moving next to his ankles.

"Sorry, partner. You were really out of it for a while. Kept trying to get out of bed."

Lassiter nodded, his forehead crumpling as he dug back in his memories.

"Spencer?" he asked, watching in confusion as a guilty look flitted over O'Hara's face.

"He and Gus found you…" O'Hara's eyes filled with tears and she looked down, "I'm so sorry, Carlton. I should have known something was wrong. I should have been there."

Carlton sighed, her tears reminding him painfully of Angeline's.

"You couldn't have known," he comforted gruffly, his throat closing up on him.

O'Hara nodded and wiped away her tears, professionalism once again covering her emotions.

"We haven't found them yet, but it's only a matter of time," O'Hara reported, frowning.

There was no reason to ask who they were. Carlton knew.

He closed his eyes.

"Tired," he croaked, trying to shut O'Hara up without offending her.

He heard her choke back a small sigh and she touched his shoulder for a moment.

"I'll be in the hall if you need me," she said softly.

He didn't respond and she left; the clicking of her heels silenced by the heavy hospital door.

He was alone. Utterly and completely. He sank into the darkness that snaked around him with open arms.

-000-

"Angeline," Carlton whispered, her hand in his, "How long will you stay with me?"

She looked up at him and squeezed his hand gently.

"Forever, my love. Don't worry."

Carton felt a great weight lift off him and he smiled.

"Promise?" he teased, tugging at her hand.

She turned and stepped closer to him, her free hand resting on his abs.

"As long as you want me," she added, frowning worriedly.

Carlton's smile fell, and he looked down at her seriously.

"I'll always want you," he vowed, "No matter what."

She looked down and sobbed, his heart clenching at the sound.

"Angeline?" he asked.

She raised her head and he gasped, pain shooting through him where her hand lay against his stomach.

She was battered and bleeding, tears mixing with blood, face swollen and disfigured.

"What happened?" Carlton exclaimed, releasing her hand to gently touch her face.

"You didn't stop them," she whispered, her heartbroken declaration staggering him.

He fell to his knees in front of her, the pain in his stomach like acid leaching through him.

"I tried," he begged, reaching out to touch her. She backed away, shaking her head.

"You didn't want me," she said softly, watching as he clutched his stomach, pain hunching him over.

"I did! I do!" Carlton insisted, his blood-coated hand reaching towards her.

She stopped, considering his words. Then she shook her head.

"Not soon enough," she choked, a rope appearing around her neck.

"Don't!" Carlton begged as she tottered on the edge of the bed.

She looked at him sadly.

"It's too late."

She fell, the rope snapping loudly around her pale throat.

"NO! Angeline!" Carlton screamed.

"Lassie!" Spencer shouted in his ear, his hands pinning down Carlton's shoulders.

Lassiter fell back into the bed, curling slightly as the agony shot through him. He could hear someone moaning.

"Gus!" Spencer called loudly, one hand still clutching his shoulder.

Guster slid into the room, yanking a nurse behind him with uncharacteristic vigor.

After an affronted glare at Spencer's cohort, the plump woman immediately went to work, untangling Carlton's IV and entering a code on the machine next to him.

Seconds later, the moaning mercifully stopped and Carlton realized it had been coming from him.

Warm numbness spread through his body, pooling in his stomach. He slowly uncurled, thankful that the meager presence of the gown protected his modestly for the most part.

He watched with a kind of careless amusement as Spencer and Guster collapsed into the hard plastic chairs at his bedside, both out of breath.

"Man, Lassie, even sick you've got a loud mouth. I think I'm deaf in my left ear now," Spencer said, poking his pinkie into his ear experimentally.

Carlton's amusement fled at the reminder of his dream.

"What are you doing here, Spencer?" he groused, wanting nothing more than to be left alone.

"Forced Jules to go eat and take a shower. She was getting kind of rank, but don't tell her I said that."

"Don't need a babysitter," Lassiter grumbled, eying the cup of water next to Guster. His mouth was Sahara dry, but he wasn't about to ask the two morons for help.

The psychic picked up on it anyway.

Spencer brought the cup over to him and bent the neon-green straw towards him.

"Drink," Spenser commanded impatiently as Lassiter tried to take the cup from him with shaky hands.

With a sigh of frustration, Lassiter accepted the help and sucked stringently on the straw.

"Slowly!" Spencer warned, pulling back until Lassiter quit chugging down the water.

He finished off the cup and Spencer resumed his seat, watching him with observant eyes.

"What?" Carlton asked, shifting in the bed and biting back a curse as the pain rolled over him.

One of the moronic duo's epic whisper-fights ensued, and Carlton didn't bother to try and decipher what they were arguing about now.

"I'd want to know!" Spencer declared, apparently winning the battle. He turned towards Lassiter and stood up, Guster matching his movements.

Lassiter looked between them, trying to figure out what could have Guster looking so worried and guilty and Spenser so determined.

"Spencer," Lassie growled, in too much pain to play games, "Spit it out."

"She's alive," Spencer said softly, "She's in bad shape, but she's alive."

Carlton looked up at him blankly before anger crumpled his face.

"That's not funny, Spencer. What kind of sadistic…"

Guster cut him off.

"It's true, Lassiter. Angeline is in a coma, but she's alive."

Lassiter looked between the two men, judging their sincerity. With a nod of determination, he started to sit up.

"Whoa there!" Spencer said, pushing him back with disturbingly little effort, "Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm going to see her," Lassiter growled, pointing at the two men, "And you're going to take me."

-000-

Buzz McNabb stood watch outside of Angeline's room. The tall man made for an imposing guard, his height head and shoulders above the variety of nurses, patients, and doctors that skittered past his vigilant scrutiny.

"Detective Lassiter," the man greeted with a pleased smile, "Good to see you, sir."

Lassiter nodded tersely, uncomfortable in wheelchair that Spencer and Guster had foisted on him, IV trailing behind.

"Nabby!" Spencer said conspiratorially, "Coast clear?"

"Mr. Spencer just left," McNabb said, nodding.

Lassiter glanced back over his shoulder at Spencer as Guster opened the door, but the younger man refused to meet his eyes.

Curiosity forgotten, Carlton worked on keeping the few sips of water down as Angeline's pale form was revealed.

She was even frailer than he remembered, the ventilator obscuring most of her face. The deep purple bruising around her neck; the bandages swathing almost every inch of her exposed skin, as pale as the bandages themselves where not cut or bruised. She looked dead.

The door shut behind them, the clatter of the hospital silenced and replaced by the soft wheeze of machinery.

"How is she?" Lassiter managed to ask, his voice barely audible.

Spencer and Guster shared a look, and the darker man took the floor.

"She's… not good," he said softly, "They don't know how long she went without breathing; her pulse was negligible when they brought her in. Frankly, they don't have much hope. The machines are keeping her alive."

Lassiter swallowed hard and looked away, trying to compose himself.

"I told you we shouldn't have told him," Gus whispered fiercely.

Shawn didn't respond, his hand resting heavily on Lassie's shoulder and squeezing slightly.

Lassie shook his head.

"No," he croaked, looking at Angeline, "You did the right thing. Thank you." He looked up, squaring his shoulders, "Can you… I'd like a few minutes," Carlton finished, his jaw set.

"Of course," Gus said. The two men left without a fuss, much to his relief.

Carlton pushed his chair closer to her bed. Taking her delicately bandaged hand in his, he just sat there, watching.

"I've never been very good with words," Carlton said, "Never been very good with relationships either. But I have to tell you something, and you're going to listen to me."

He took a deep breath, stomach twinging once again. He ignored it, leaning in close.

"I want you. I've wanted you all along. Don't you ever think I didn't. And I still want you now."

He waited for any kind of response, a twitch, a blink. Nothing. He sighed and brought her hand to his lips, kissing it gently.

"I'll be here when you wake up. I'm not going anywhere," he promised.

-000-

"Shawn," Juliet's voice was a threatening growl as Shawn froze, grinning guiltily.

"Jules," Shawn responded, casually backing away from the incensed blonde.

"Where. Is. My. Partner?" she demanded, backing him into the wall.

"A-Angeline," he stammered, his voice high.

Her eyes narrowed.

"My injured partner, who I specifically told you to NOT tell, is no longer in his bed because of you!"

"He forced it out of me?" Shawn offered, swallowing hard at the look she gave him.

"He couldn't force toothpaste out a tube right now, Shawn! You just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?"

Shawn's face hardened and he leaned into her space, using his height to force her to take a step back.

"No, Juliet. I couldn't let Lassie suffer thinking the woman he loves is dead. Forgive me for I have sinned!"

Juliet didn't back off.

"She might as well be. There's nothing anyone can do for her. He'll just make himself sicker trying to get her back!"

Shawn looked down at her in disbelief.

"I'd want to know," he said softly.

Juliet looked up at him in surprise.

"Even if there's no hope?" she whispered, biting her lip.

"Jules," Shawn said, cupping her cheek and smiling lopsidedly, "If you're alive, there's always hope."


	8. Chapter 8

Soundtrack to this chapter: "Beyond This Moment" by Patrick O'Hearn and "Cool Forest Rain" by Dan Gibson

Chapter 8

Between the Chief's contacts and his outright refusal to leave her side, Lassiter had managed a bed next to Angeline. The tiny room was even tinier with two beds, but he didn't mind. It allowed him to touch her constantly. Sometimes he held her hand; sometimes he touched her cheek or shoulder. They were always in contact; something visitors didn't fail to notice but definitely declined to mention.

The nurses bristled at first, but after they saw the tender touches, so different from the acerbic temper of the patient, they softened.

The days passed, and a steady stream of extra Jell-O always seemed to find its way into the room, waiting for the daily visits of the psychic and his partner.

Juliet was a regular also, sneaking in coffee and work files to the incarcerated detective. She worked tirelessly to find the men that had attacked them, but they'd disappeared.

No one mentioned the fact that Carlton usually would have been threatening mutiny by now, demanding to be released and put back on duty. He was up and walking, short trips only, but a definite sign that his health was improving.

Angeline, however, remained the same. Oh, her bruises were fading and her cuts healing, but she'd yet to show signs of waking up. The machine still breathed for her, food and liquids pumped into her, keeping her alive.

It was the Chief who bit the bullet and said what they all refused to.

"Carlton," she started, her voice sympathetic. O'Hara, Spencer, and Guster stood behind her, serious and sad.

"No," Lassiter said, cutting her off before she could say it.

"Detective Lassiter!" she snapped, realizing politeness wasn't going to get her anywhere, "You're going to have to let her go. The doctors say…"

"Screw the doctors!" Lassiter cried, his face red and chest heaving, "What do they want me to do? Just let them kill her? I lived through that once, I'm not doing it again!"

"Carlton," O'Hara said softly.

"No, O'Hara! It's not happening," Lassiter said stubbornly.

Guster, O'Hara and the Chief all lined up, ready to continue the argument. Spencer, however, moved to his side.

"He's right," Spencer defended, "Why does he have to let her go now? Give her some more time, maybe…"

"Maybe nothing, Shawn!" Gus interrupted, "You heard the doctors!"

"They aren't God, Gus!" Shawn retorted, "She could still…"

"Spencer," Lassiter said quietly, interrupting his impassioned defense, "Thank you. But they're right. I…" his voice broke and he looked away from the quartet of compassionate eyes, "I need to let her go," he took a deep breath and looked up at them, "Tomorrow. I need one more night, to say goodbye."

"Of course," the Chief murmured, ushering the group out the door, "Let us know if you want anyone to be here with you when… it happens."

Carlton nodded, grabbing Shawn's sleeve as he moved to leave.

"Spencer," Lassiter croaked out, fighting within himself.

"What, Lassie?" Spencer asked, eyes growing large, "Wait; that was just a ruse, right? You want me to help you break her outta here! Just give me a few hours and I'll come up with a plan that'll…"

"Shawn," he spoke, startling the younger man into unaccustomed silence, "Will you be here? When she… goes?"

"Whatever you need, man," Spencer agreed seriously.

Lassiter nodded and released his sleeve.

"Bye, Lassie," Spencer whispered as he shut the door quietly behind him.

-000-

He couldn't say goodbye to her. The words wouldn't come. Instead, he told her about his plans for the two of them. The perfect little house, the wedding on the beach, a honeymoon in the mountains, her garden, his boat. The two little boys that would tear up his grass and make him laugh. The sandcastles and first fish, the daughter, unexpected but not unwelcome, and the extra room he built with his own hands. Growing old together and still holding hands. Watching their grandchildren build the same castles in the same sand and wondering how they'd gotten so lucky. Lying down together one bright, moonlit night, knowing that they wouldn't wake up the next day, and being at peace with it.

He lay next to her on the bed, enough room for both of them because she was just so small. Running his fingers through her hair, he whispered into her ear.

"Don't leave," he begged, "Stay with me, please."

He didn't sleep.

-000-

"It's time," the doctor said, "Are you ready?"

Spencer held his shoulder, his hand trembling. Lassiter was standing at attention, his back straight, his eyes dry. He'd run out of tears.

He nodded, her hand firmly clenched in his.

The steadily whooshing ventilator turned off, quiet filling the room like fog.

The doctor slipped the tube from her throat, finally revealing her chapped lips.

The silenced heart-beat monitor bounced steadily; unaware that sustenance was no longer coming.

She didn't move.

Like mute sentinels, Carlton and Shawn barely breathed, watching the thin green line grow more and more erratic.

And then in one, glorious, moment everything changed.

Angeline inhaled.

Spencer's hand tightened, vice-like, around his shoulder, but he barely felt it. Lassiter waited, gently squeezing her hand in his.

She coughed and took another breath, her eyes fluttering open.

For a long moment, the room seemed to hold its breath.

She blinked, her dark eyes tracking across the ceiling.

"Angeline?" Carlton whispered, his voice raw.

Oh so slowly her eyes moved towards him, her brow furrowed.

She was looking at him.

"C-Carlton?" she breathed, sounding confused.

Carlton grinned and pulled her into a hug. Climbing into her bed and pulling her to curl into his arms, Lassiter ignored everything else in the room.

"Yah-hoo!" Shawn shouted, fist pumping in the air as he danced in circles.

"Everything alright in here?" Buzz popped his head in the room, his frown turning into a grin as he spotted Lassiter and Angeline.

Shawn tackled him in a giant bear hug and they stumbled out of the room.

"Nabby, call the brute squad!" Shawn ordered, grinning.

"We have a brute squad?" Buzz asked, puzzled.

"Nabbs, you _are_ the brute squad!" Shawn pronounced with a gale of hysterical laughter, spinning and pulling out his lime-green iPhone.

"Gus? Hold please. Jules, one minute. Chief? Yeah, let me merge the calls," After a moment's finagling, Shawn had the three of them on a speakerphone conference call.

"Mr. Spencer, you better have a good reason…"

Shawn cut Chief Vick off.

"I just have one thing to say to the three of you," he announced. After a tension-building pause he continued, "I was right and you were wrong, do da, do da, I was right here all along, oh do da day!"

"Mr. Spencer!"

"Shawn, what are you..."

"She's alive? Yes! Woohoo!" Gus translated Shawn-speak accurately and the two women fell silent, listening to the boys, and Buzz, do a happy dance, complete with lyrics.

-000-

"You're here," she whispered into his neck, holding him close.

"I told you I wouldn't leave," Carlton replied, kissing her hair.

She buried her face into his neck, breathing in his distinctive scent – gun powder, leather, and juniper.

He just relished the feel of her warm breath against his skin, but pulled away when it was joined by the cool chill of tears.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly, leaning down to look into her eyes.

She smiled sadly at him, tears still rolling down her cheeks even as her fingers touched his lips.

"You shouldn't be here," she whispered, "I'm so glad to see you, but you don't belong here."

"I belong wherever you are," Carlton countered, his heart falling at her words.

"No, no," she whimpered, shaking her head and looking down, "You didn't do anything wrong. You shouldn't be here."

"Wrong? What are you talking about?" Carlton asked, not allowing her to pull away.

She looked up at him, studying his brilliant blue eyes, his strong nose and jaw-line, the little patches of grey at his temples.

"You weren't supposed to die," she pronounced.

"I… didn't," Carlton said, his voice rising in befuddlement.

She smiled wryly, her fingers tracing the shell of his ear.

He grabbed her hand and forced her to look at him.

"You're not dead," he stated firmly.

She paused, her dark eyes focusing on his intently.

"I'm… We're alive?" she asked softly.

"Yes!" Lassiter asserted, just stifling his voice in the nick of time.

Thunder crashed and Angeline jumped, turning to look at the small window. Rain splashed against the pane, trickling down in little rivulets.

"It's raining," she said in disbelief, turning back to Lassiter and smiling, "It's raining!"

He nodded mutely, unsure why the normal weather pattern would engender such excitement.

"It doesn't rain in Hell," she explained at his look, burrowing once again into his neck.

Lassiter held her, his mind spinning.


	9. Chapter 9

Soundtrack to this chapter is "Speak Softly Love" by Esteban (from the Godfather)

AN: Well, this turned into an epic chapter. I told you that Angeline wanted a voice, and boy did she get one. Sheesh, I didn't even know that much about her!

Chapter 9

"Like she wasn't screwed up enough before," Spencer mumbled, shaking his head, "She's going to need some serious therapy."

"Think your mother would be willing?" Lassiter asked, his voice hushed in deference to the woman asleep in his arms. She refused to let go, and he wasn't arguing.

Lassiter had been worried that the psychic would make light of the situation, as was his customary habit, but he'd been pleasantly surprised to find that Spencer made an acceptable sounding board.

Spencer shrugged.

"Maybe. I'll ask. So, besides the guilt complex, she doing okay?"

Lassiter sighed.

"I don't think she's really woken up yet, so I can't tell you."

"Do you think she'll remember what happened to her?" Spencer asked cautiously, turning a little green at the thought.

Lassiter swallowed and frowned deeply, holding her close.

"I wish she wouldn't. One of us remembering is enough."

"I'm sorry," Spencer said sincerely, looking down at the tiles, "I should have sensed something earlier. I should have prevented it."

"You can't see everything, Spencer," Lassie said gruffly.

Shawn looked up at him and gave him a half-grin.

"Does that mean you think I can see _some_ things, Lassie? I knew you believed I'm psychic!"

"Spencer!" Lassiter growled a warning, amusement dancing in his eyes as Shawn did a little jig.

"Lassie believes I'm psychic, yeah, yeah!" Shawn sang quietly, boogying from the room.

The levity left with Spencer.

-000-

She pulled away from him when she woke up. It was tiny; a little flinch, a jerk, a look of terror quickly buried by her blank expression. But it was enough.

Carlton let go, standing next to her bed.

"What happened?" Angeline asked softly, her hands tangling the thin hospital sheets.

"You're in the hospital," Lassiter offered. He didn't say any more, wanting to know what she remembered on her own.

She nodded, her eyes falling to the bandages on his wrists.

"You're hurt," she said.

Lassiter nodded.

"You hurt yourself," she said slowly, "For me?"

"Yes," he said quietly, no blame or anger in his voice.

She looked up at him.

"Why?" she whispered, her voice cracking.

He couldn't stop himself. He reached out and touched her cheek, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at his wound.

"I love you, Angeline. I should have told you right away, but I was afraid."

Her eyes closed at his admission and she turned her head from his fingers.

Carlton's stomach fell, the ice wall protecting his heart slamming up as his hand dropped.

"I'm not worth it, Carlton."

"What?" he asked, blinking quickly as the words registered.

She curled up, wrapping her arms around her knees. Her shoulders hunched and he was reminded of a small animal trying to make itself invisible. Her face was buried in her knees.

"I thought…" she whispered, her voice catching, "I thought I could escape it. I thought my dreams… could, somehow, be real. But no. I am what I always will be."

She sniffed, and Carlton realized she was crying. He reached out to comfort her but froze as she looked up at him, her eyes wide and watery.

"I'm a whore, Carlton. You never should have tried to protect me. I'm not worth it."

She looked towards the window, her eyes unfocused and distant.

For a few seconds, Carlton was speechless. And then anger rose like a blood-red tidal wave.

"Angeline!" Carlton yelled, his voice harsh and loud.

She turned towards him with a cringe, her arms automatically lifting to protect her face.

He grabbed her arms below the bandages, shoving them down so he could see her eyes. His grip tightened as he spoke.

"Don't you ever, ever talk about yourself like that again! What happened was not your fault! You fought them as hard as you could!"

"No!" Angeline screamed, shocking Lassiter, "You're wrong! You don't know anything!"

"Then tell me!" Lassiter responded, shaking her when she looked away, "Tell me!"

She looked up at him, her jaw set and eyes flat.

"I only fought them because they like it," she snarled, "And, like a good whore, I do as I'm told."

"What?" Carlton asked breathlessly, releasing her arms.

She slipped off the bed and stood, her legs quivering for a moment before she straightened and looked up at him.

"I do what my masters like, Detective Lassiter," Angeline said harshly, "Daemon, Biel and Lucien like me to fight back."

She strode forward, her hips swaying as she moved. Stopping in front of Lassiter, her expression softened, her voice breathy.

"And you, Detective Lassiter, like Suzy Homemaker," she said with a demure giggle, batting her eyelashes.

Her face hardened again as he took a step back, turning green.

"I told you I wasn't worth it," she said flatly, her expression blank and cold.

Carlton stumbled from the room, ran to the public bathroom down the hall, and promptly vomited.

-000-

"Lassie?" Shawn called, scoping out the nearly empty restroom.

The sound of dry heaving led him down to the last stall, but he locked the door for privacy before venturing down there.

Buzz's call had taken him by surprise. He'd been on his way up to check on Lassie and Angeline, but he'd taken the stairs two at a time when Buzz told him about Lassie's sprint to the men's room.

Pushing the stainless steel door open, Shawn knelt down by the puking detective, rubbing slow circles across his shoulders.

"Come on, take a deep breath," Shawn coaxed softly, feeling Lassie shudder as he tried to hold back the urge to vomit up his empty stomach.

He opened his mouth to tease about the danger of pain pills on an empty stomach when he caught a glimpse of Lassie's face.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" Shawn gasped, yanking Lassiter's shirt up to assure that the wound hadn't reopened. But what else could cause the stalwart detective to go grey like that?

Lassie shook his head and stood, leaning heavily on Shawn's shoulder. They made it to the sinks, where Lassie perched on the counter, his head hanging wearily.

"Lassie?" Shawn asked hesitantly. He'd never seen the man this upset. Not even when they thought Angeline was going to… Shawn paled, his heart in his throat. Surely Buzz would have told him if…

"Is Angeline okay?" Shawn demanded, clutching Lassie's bicep.

Lassie flushed green, turning to hunch over the sink and Shawn's stomach dropped.

"Oh, God! What happened?" he asked, moving to go see for himself.

Lassiter grabbed his arm, stopping him.

"She's… fine," Lassiter managed, his words clipped.

Shawn stopped trying to pull away and focused on Lassiter. There was something desperately wrong.

Hopping up onto the counter next to the lanky detective, Shawn took a deep breath.

"Spill," he ordered seriously.

Lassiter looked conflicted, and Shawn clutched his shoulder firmly.

"Whatever you say will never leave this room. I swear on a lifetime supply of pineapple smoothies," Shawn said, raising his right hand.

Lassiter nodded wearily and sighed, staring down at his hands.

"She remembers," Lassiter started, falling silent almost immediately.

"Okay. Well, we kinda expected it to happen…" Shawn prodded, "Did she freak out?"

Lassiter shook his head with a dark chuckle and Shawn shivered at the sound.

"No, she didn't freak out. She informed me that she was a whore."

"Sounds like freaking out to me," Shawn said questioningly.

"That's what I thought," Lassiter said softly, "I told her that it wasn't her fault. That she'd fought back."

"Okay, good…" Shawn urged.

Lassiter looked up then, his eyes haunted. Shawn paled, knowing whatever the detective was about to say would not be pleasant.

"She said she fought back because they liked it."

"What?" Shawn gaped, his mind whirling, "She… No. You must have misheard…"

Lassiter continued, his voice tight and brittle.

"She said she did the same for me."

Shawn looked at him blankly, and Lassiter knew he'd have to clarify. Gritting his teeth, he continued.

"She acted like Little Miss Homemaker because that's what I wanted. She played me. She used me."

The mirror shattered, and Spencer fell off the counter with a yelp. Lassiter looked down at his blood-coated knuckles idly.

"She died, Lassie," Spencer argued, shaking his head, "How could that have been sex play?"

Lassiter shrugged, watching the red liquid drip languidly into the sink.

"It got a little out of control."

"So," Spencer asked, "What are you going to do?"

Lassiter looked up, expressionless.

"Nothing, Spencer. Absolutely nothing."

-000-

"How could you do that to him?" Shawn demanded.

Angeline was staring out the window, her legs tucked under her as she sat in the hard plastic chair.

She'd been moved from the hospital to a safe house, really a safe-apartment, early that morning. The room was nearly bare, only a twin-sized bed, a tiny dresser, and a plastic chair. The window looked out into the ally, filled with trash.

"Answer me!" Shawn shouted, grabbing her by the shoulder and forcing her to look at him.

"Aren't you psychic?" she asked softly, "Don't you already know?"

Her conspiratorial smirk sent him over the edge.

He clinched his fist, his hand tightening painfully around her shoulder.

In the red haze of his anger he nearly missed the flash of fear, quickly disguised by amused apathy.

"Holy…" Shawn breathed, releasing her and taking a step back, "You're playing me!" he said in astonishment.

Angeline stood and bowed, clapping mockingly.

"Very good, Mr. Spencer. You're finally getting it."

He picked up on the bitterness the mocking was trying to cover up. Raising a hand to his temple, Shawn began to rip aside the layers.

"You're still playing us," Shawn intoned, squinting his eyes, "You're hiding something."

Angeline grinned, the expression almost manic.

"I'm hiding nothing, Mr. Spencer," she said coolly, "You're simply not asking the right questions."

"Why were you locked in the basement?" he asked.

"No," she responded, "Try again."

"What did they do to you in the basement?"

"Close enough," Angeline said with a shrug, still grinning, "The more accurate question would be: What didn't they do to me in the basement?"

She laughed, the sound like shattering glass. Pacing the floor in front of Shawn, she kept smiling.

"It reminds me of that game, Clue. Colonel Mustard, in the basement, with… fill in the blank. The car battery? The clamps? The toys? The plastic bag? The chains? The rope?" a hysterical chuckle, "Or joined by his friends Mr. Green and Professor Plum?"

She stopped pacing and turned towards him, still grinning.

"You're looking a little green yourself, Shawn! Don't worry, there's plenty of game left! And so many more suspects to choose from! Countless more, all with their own weapon. Or weapons."

She strode close to him, her hips swaying invitingly in the hospital-issue white scrubs; all naughty nurse. Her finger rose to trail across his bottom lip, and Shawn was frozen; overwhelmed.

"But you like a girl with some kinks, don't you Shawn?" she whispered seductively, her hand sliding down the thin material of his t-shirt to rest just above his navel.

Shawn swallowed hard, caught off-guard when she pushed him back, pressing her body against his as he stumbled. He fell back onto the bed, bouncing the old mattress with a squeak of protesting springs.

"What are you…?" Shawn gasped, cut off as her cool fingers glided under his shirt and fluttered across his waistline.

"Stop," he said weakly, grabbing her arms.

She looked at him and pouted, her lower lip sticking out.

"I'm sorry, Shawn," she said, "I thought you liked a proactive woman."

She twisted and he was suddenly on top of her, holding down her wrists above her head. Her knees clenched around his thighs and he moaned as she flexed up against him, the friction obscene.

She moved again and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head as he gulped for breath.

It was only his insane attention to detail that allowed him to catch the look of sickness that flitted over her face. The shame and sadness.

He gasped and threw himself off the bed, landing on the floor with a loud thud.

Shawn took a few minutes to catch his breath and lower his blood pressure, staring up at the stained, cracked ceiling.

Angeline was silent on the bed.

When he finally found his feet he looked down at her. She was still on her back, her hands above her head. Tears ran down her face as she stared blankly up.

"I'm sorry, Shawn," she whispered, her voice soft and gentle. Her eyes moved to his face, observing his shock and embarrassment.

"I could say something frivolous, which would be in character for your tastes," she intoned, her eyes fixed once again to the ceiling, "But since you're psychic, I guess it doesn't work for you. So I'll be honest."

"Please," Shawn said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

She nodded.

"Forgive me if I seem a bit flippant," she said lightly, "but my training… conditioning… is screaming at me that you like that sort of thing. Do you understand?" she asked, her eyes flickering to his face.

"Yes," he rasped, swallowing hard to keep down the bile that threatened.

"Ten years," she started, "ten years of pain and suffering. Ten years of being told when and how and how long and hoping, praying they keep their word. Ten years of wondering when the day they forget you will come, half-fearing and half-craving it. Ten years of wondering if it would be better to starve to death than continue in it. Ten years of games, Shawn."

Shawn shuddered, the hopelessness and emptiness of her voice like listening to someone already dead.

"For a long time I fought. And then I gave up. I played dead, like some kind of opossum. O-possum. Funny word. They look like giant rats, don't they? Creepy little things, almost as bad as raccoons and squirrels."

Shawn looked over at her, wondering suddenly if she wasn't just a little bit psychic.

"It didn't work. Sur-prise, sur-prise, sur-prise," she drawled in a passible southern accent, "Then they just kept at it until they got a reaction. At first I thought it didn't matter which one. Crying, screaming, anything seemed to make them finally get to the point, so to speak. And then I discovered something," she said, rising up on her elbows to look up at Shawn.

"What?" he asked, dreading the answer.

She grinned psychotically.

"They liked different flavors, Shawn! Just like ice cream. They all have their own tastes. Some like strawberry or plain vanilla, others prefer a combo, like rocky road, still others want something no one else has tried, like pistachio. Some like it plain, others with toppings. I won't even mention banana splits."

Shawn was turning green again and had the feeling he wouldn't be able to enjoy ice cream for a long time.

"Best of all, once you got their flavor down, it was so much better. Sure, you get sick of ice cream, but if you have to eat it, you might as well enjoy it, right?"

He nodded, swallowing down the clawing acid.

"Well, as with all places that serve good food, I got popular. There were all kinds of ways to pay; they even had reward programs, frequent flyer miles, group discounts, that sort of thing. They didn't want their property damaged, so there were definite fines for bruises, cuts, stuff like that. And they had to have all their shots- don't want anyone getting sick."

"Pay?" Shawn whimpered.

"Oh, you know. Do a favor here, look the other way there, maybe some extra cash or gold or contacts. Nothing too fancy, just a perk of the job. Employee discounts and all. That's why I really got to know D, B, and L."

Her eyes darkened and Shawn watched as she tried to suppress the tremor that ran through her. Her fingers traced the bruising around her neck.

"Should have known how far they'd take it when they had no fines to pay," she muttered.

She let her hands fall back to the bed and stretched, grimacing comically.

"At least a couple hundred worth of damage, I'd say," she said with a grin, "Minus the whole hanging thing, of course."

"Why did you agree to testify?" Shawn asked, running with the topic.

She frowned and stuck out her tongue. He flinched at the bite-marks, but she ignored him.

"Now you're just boring! Why does anyone agree to do anything? I guess it was just a way to get outta there."

Shawn's eyes narrowed.

"You're not being honest," he reprimanded.

Her smile froze and then melted.

"Fine," she said softly, "I lied. I was never planning on testifying."

Shawn frowned, but she continued before he could ask.

"It was Detective Lassiter," she said, her voice as serious as it had ever been, "I knew from the moment I saw him that he was a straight-shooter. In command. I knew I'd never get anywhere if I didn't go through him first. So I figured out a way."

"You used him," Shawn accused.

She looked up at him, her eyes boring into his intently.

"Didn't you hear anything I said? I use everyone."

"What was your plan?" Shawn asked.

She shrugged, sitting up and leaning against the wall.

"It wasn't a plan, per se. Just a hunch. I never figured he'd take me home, but I suspect I've got you to thank for that."

Shawn shifted uncomfortably, remembering how he convinced Lassiter that it was a bad idea to send her to a safe-house.

"Actually, he took longer to crack than I thought. The whole wounded witness routine was supposed to make him feel powerful, not sympathetic. I had to go to great lengths to get him to break, and in the end it wasn't even me that did it."

Her half-smile was the first truly honest thing Shawn had seen on her face. She was silent for a minute, staring to a point somewhere over his shoulder. With a small sigh, she resumed her monologue.

"Once he was sufficiently distracted and worn out, I'd escape. I had it all planned. Even the gentle giant fit into my plans. But, fool that I am, I waited too long."

"Why did you wait?" Shawn asked softy.

She wouldn't look at him, shrugging silently. She wiped at her eyes and continued.

"When the boys got there, I knew I was in trouble. They liked to play rough at the best of times. I thought, maybe if I… Maybe they wouldn't hurt him," she finished with a shamed whisper.

"Why were you..?" Shawn started to ask, but she cut him off.

"Idiot hurt himself enough trying to help me. But at least they left him alone, so maybe I did some good after all," she muttered angrily.

"They shot him," Shawn said, watching as she flinched at his words and looked at him, her eyes wide.

"Where? How bad? Why didn't he tell me? Is he okay?"

She scrambled off her bed and ran to the door. Shawn caught her, holding her back as she struggled.

"He's fine! He's fine," he assured as she stopped fighting and turned to look up at him.

"They shot him in the gut. He almost didn't make it," Shawn said softly, unsurprised when she nearly fainted, growing limp in his arms.

He half-carried her to the bed and sat down next to her.

She turned her back to him, curling up and hiding her face. He rubbed her back soothingly as she sobbed.

"You love him, don't you?" Shawn asked.

"Yes, I love him," she choked out, "But it doesn't matter. I'm a whore. That's all I'll ever be. That's all I'm good for. And he hates me for it."


	10. Chapter 10

Soundtrack for this chapter is "Song for Sienna" by Brian Crain

Chapter 10

Shawn tapped the recorder in his pocket. He stood outside Lassiter's door, trying to work up the courage to enter the lion's den. He couldn't hold back the squeak of shock when the door flung open and Lassie glowered down at him.

"What do you want, Spencer? You've been hovering outside my door for twenty minutes! In or out, pick one!" Lassie growled, striding back into his man-cave.

With a deep breath, Shawn strode into the darkness, letting the heavy door swing shut behind him.

"Lock it," Lassie ordered. With a sigh, Shawn threw the lock, trying not to feel trapped.

"Spit it out," Lassie said impatiently, trying to find a comfortable way to sit on his couch.

"I went to see Angeline," Shawn said quickly, ignoring Lassie's small flinch at her name.

"And?"

"And you need to hear this," Shawn said, pulling out the recorder.

Lassiter looked up at him in surprise before frowning.

"If she didn't know you were recording her we can't use any of it in court."

Shawn sighed and sat down next to him.

"I didn't do it for court, I did it for you."

Lassie waved him off.

"I don't want to hear it," he said, "I already know more than I want to."

Shawn growled in frustration, startling Lassiter.

"Come on, man! Don't act like you don't care!"

"Okay, I care! Happy? I care too much! And I can't stop caring! Even after she…" Lassiter fell silent, holding his stomach. Yelling wasn't the best idea.

"Sorry," Shawn said softly, waiting for the pain to pass, "But I really think you should hear what she said. Maybe…"

"Maybe what?" Lassiter snapped.

Shawn sighed again, shaking his head.

"I don't know, man. Maybe you'll understand her better. Maybe what she did won't hurt as bad."

Lassiter scoffed and shook his head. Then, with a sigh of resignation, he nodded.

"Fine. Play the tape."

-000-

"_I lied."_

"_I use everyone."_

Her words stung, eating into him.

"_I waited too long."_

"_Maybe they wouldn't hurt him."_

"_Is he okay?"_

"_I love him."_

Her words soothed.

"_He hates me."_

What was the lie? What was the truth? Which did she mean? Because both couldn't be true.

"_I lied."_

"_I lied."_

"She lied," Lassiter said, staring at the little black recorder, "And you're asking me to trust her?"

"No," Spencer said, "Just talk to her."

"_He hates me."_

-000-

"Detective Lassiter."

"Miss Hillcroft."

"Please, sit down."

He sat, watching as she perched primly on the edge of her bed.

"I don't hate you," he said quietly.

She gasped and turned away. When she looked back at him, she was angry.

"Spencer," she spat, "Talks too much."

Lassiter nodded his agreement.

"He does. But not this time. He recorded you."

Her lips pressed together and she nodded.

"I see. Well, I guess I should be accustomed to being used."

Lassiter stood.

"You're not the only one," he growled.

Her eyes flashed and she stood.

"Is that what you came here for? To hear for yourself that I used you? Well, I did! I lied to you. I seduced you. I even…"

She stopped and spun away, her teeth snapping together.

"I don't hate you," Lassiter repeated.

She stiffened her shoulders and turned back to face him, glaring.

"Well, that's too bad. Because I hate you!"

Lassiter froze, his face hard. He studied her, noting her trembling fists and the lower lip that threatened to quiver off. He blinked, cocking his head.

"No. You don't."

"Yes I do!" she shouted, her fist hitting his shoulder, "I hate you! I…"

He wrapped his arms around her as she fell forwards, sobbing into his chest.

"I hate you, I hate you," she wept, shaking her head.

"Shh," he comforted, holding her gently.

"I can't," she whimpered, "It's not right. I shouldn't. You shouldn't."

"Shouldn't what?" Carlton asked.

"Love," she whispered.

He chuckled.

"Well, I agree with you there. Really shouldn't. But do. Stupid, isn't it?"

She nodded, sniffling.

"Stupid," she agreed.

He pulled away slightly and bent to meet her eyes.

"So, we agree? Both stupid?"

She laughed and nodded, wiping her eyes on her shoulder.

"I love you," she whispered.

"Love you, too."

THE END

To be continued in Thanksgiving Daze

AN: Thank you all so much for reading my first completed Psych fic. It's been a strange and wonderful journey from one-shot to an epic almost 20,000 words. Thank you again to all the reviewers. I really appreciate your input. I am thinking about continuing Angeline and Lassiter's story, but I think I'll take a break before I get into that. Happy reading!


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